What Should Have Been
by Harrin Potter
Summary: The Dursleys from canon were hardly normal. They treated their own nephew, an orphan, like a dirty slave. But what if they were on the other side of the 'abnormal' spectrum? What if they were abnormally smart? What if they did what they were supposed to do all along and care for the new child, much more than anything required them to? Featuring Smart!Kind!Dursleys. Gen.
1. A New Life Begins

Disclaimer: No, I don't own Harry Potter or any related franchises.

* * *

Mister and Missus Dursley, of Number 4, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly smart, thank you very much. They were the first people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they were always the first to investigate such mysteries.

Mr. Dursley was the director at a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. This year, though, he had signed up for a special project - a research project about computers. He had earned a promotion, too. This project was designed to see whether more drills could be needed for more screws in computers, which would give Grunnings more money.

He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large moustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blond and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time peeking around the walls, making sure Dudley was reading his books. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no smarter boy anywhere.

The Dursleys never had everything they wanted. Petunia was convinced that Dudley would grow up to become a doctor, though Dudley always preferred reading history books. Vernon wanted Dudley to understand computers and become a computer scientist, though even enticing Dudley with video games never seemed to work.

Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met in a whole year. The last time they had met, Lily had tried convincing her to be 'less nerdy'. Mrs. Dursley had been so very offended by that.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, grey Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out a nice tie for work and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a reading Dudley into his high chair.

"Hey look!" Vernon said. "It's an owl!" Petunia turned away sadly. "Oh, Pet, I didn't mean it like that!"

"She hasn't responded to me," Petunia murmured. "What if...what if she's dead?"

"No, no," Vernon said. "Don't think like that! Thoughts like that are depressing!"

Petunia sighed. "I'm just so worried."

"I know, Pet. I know."

At half past eight, Mr Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs Dursley on the cheek and kissed Dudley goodbye. Just like normal, Dudley didn't even notice the kiss, engrossed in his little book like normal.

"Little tyke," chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something interesting – a cat reading a map.

For a second, Mr Dursley didn't realise what he had seen – then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. Mr Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive.

Mr. Dursley jumped out of the car, walking to the cat. "Hi cat!"

The cat gave him a look, as if saying 'I have a name, you know.'

"You know who would love to meet you? My son! He's always interested in smart animals like you."

The cat turned away. Mr. Dursley sighed. "There's always next time, I guess." Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove towards town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.

But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks.

If Vernon wasn't almost-late, he would have jumped out of his car to talk to them. That darned cat...

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these people in standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. The traffic moved on, and a few minutes later, Mr Dursley arrived in the Grunnings car park, his mind back on computers and drills.

Mr Dursley always sat looking through the window in his office on the ninth floor. He claimed it was because the calm blue skies calmed him down.

He saw the owls swooping past in broad daylight, just like the people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at night-time. Mr Dursley almost sped outside to gawk at the owls, though his project was still more important.

His day had been going pretty well, to be honest. He hadn't yelled at anyone today (yet), and work on the project was getting faster and faster.

Just then, his stomach rumbled. All around him, people began to whisper and stare and point. "Oops," he said. "I'll be getting my lunch, then." Someone snickered. Vernon shot a glare at the man and walked into the elevator. Meanwhile...

Hey!

He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. This lot were whispering excitedly, too. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard –"

"– yes, their son, Harry –"

Mr. Dursley stopped dead.

Fear flooded him. Had Petunia's worries proved right?

"Excuse me!" he called. The cloaked people ignored him, continuing to talk amongst themselves. "EXCUSE ME!"

"Huh? What?" one man said dumbly.

"Harry Potter?" Mr. Dursley asked. "You were talking about Harry Potter?"

"Yes! You ought to be delighted, muggle-"

"The son of Lily Potter?" Vernon asked, feeling sick.

"Yes, that's the one! Hey, how does a muggle-"

"What happened to them?" Vernon shot back.

"Hmph, manners! Er, well...You-Know-Who went to their house in Godric's Hollow and...er...well...only little Harry survived..."

"WHAT?" Vernon shouted. The man flinched. "I'm sorry, I have to go."

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone and finished dialling his home number.

"PET!" he roared, not caring about the looks he was getting. "PET!"

"Y-yes, Vernon?"

"Your sister...and your in-law...they're dead..." Vernon said, a tear leaking out of his eyes. Irritated, he closed his eyes. He might not have liked them and their wand-waving (he preferred solid things like computers, thank you very much!), but they were family. And Petunia was bound to be sad.

"WHAT?"

"Lily...James...they're dead..."

"WHAT?"

Vernon opened his eyes, looking at the room. Everyone had stood up in their own little cubicles, staring at him. Almost all of them had tears in their eyes, too. "They were killed-"

"WHAT?"

"Pet...I think I'm going to have to take leave today. I can't...can't work like this."

"Yes, Vernon. Please, do come home safely. Should I pack my things? What if they come after us and Dudders?"

"Prepare yourselves," Vernon said. "It can't hurt to be safe. I love you, Pet."

"I love you too, Vernon."

He hung up, sighing softly, before realizing that everybody had heard him. "Don't worry," his boss, Angus Madison, said. "You can have the whole week off. Paid vacation. And it won't count for your vacation days, too."

Vernon sniffled. "Thank you so much. It's a hard time for us, now. Thanks again."

"Don't worry about it," Angus said. "Just go home and relax. Take some time off."

"Thanks," Vernon said again, before walking away and waiting in the elevator. His drive home was plagued by thoughts about his poor sister-in-law.

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.

"Hey, kitty kitty!" Vernon said, trying to smile. The cat must have known that he was feeling down and walked over to him. "I guess you're feeling a bit sad too, right?"

"Meow."

He sighed. "Today, at work, I ran into this fellow who said that Lily was dead. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"Meow." Vernon looked up just in time to see the cat shake her head.

"I suppose not," he said. "It's just...so...sad..."

"Meow." The cat's paw grasped his beefy arm, as if she was trying to comfort him.

Vernon sat down in the grass, right next to the cat. "Heh," he snorted grimly. "Look at me, talking to a cat. I'm sorry for taking my frustration out on you."

"Meow."

"I'm really hoping that the man was lying, though. I mean...Lily was such a nice person..."

"Meow."

"Hey! I know! Maybe you could spend some time with Dudley and me and Pet?" Vernon asked, brightening up.

"Meow." The cat shook her head. "Meow, meow."

"Er...okay...Oh, wait, I've been talking to a cat!"

"Meow." The cat's paw hit her forehead, almost like she was facepalming.

"Oh well...bye..." Vernon walked into the Dursley house and was immediately confronted by-

"VERNON!" Pet screamed as she flung herself at her husband. "TELL ME THAT IT'S NOT TRUE!"

"I can't," Vernon said. "I heard it from some person on the streets."

"Hopefully," Petunia murmured. "Hopefully they were wrong. Hopefully they were lying."

Vernon nodded into the hug. "Hopefully."

"Daddy?" Dudley asked, crawling towards the couple. He had just put up his book, likely, upon seeing his father return early. Those picture books were...interesting...though Dudley was still only a baby. He probably didn't understand it.

"It's fine, son."

The three of them sat on the sofa, brooding. They were in such an intimate three-way hug that neither Vernon or Petunia noticed that they had fallen asleep. Poor Dudley was trapped between the two as they took their rest from the day's events.

Outside the Dursley home (it was still afternoon), the cat watched the trio carefully.

'The man seems to care greatly for Lily, just like Petunia. That's strange, though. The last time I heard, they had been angry at Lily. And the boy might be a good role model for Harry.'

The cat stayed in the same position, reviewing her opinions of the Dursleys. It wasn't until midnight that the cat even moved, though she hardly noticed. Although she had been staring at the corner of the street, her mind had been elsewhere.

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed as she was shaken out of her thoughts.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen in Privet Drive. He was tall, thin and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak which swept the ground and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realise that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome - except for one house.

Number 4 Privet Drive.

He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realise he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

He had found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again – the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left in the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street towards number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no – even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. I saw it. Flocks of owls… shooting stars… Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent – I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumours."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on: "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a sherbet lemon?"

"A what?"

"A sherbet lemon. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for sherbet lemons.

"As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone –"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense – for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two sherbet lemons, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who'. I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half-exasperated, half-admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know – oh, all right, Voldemort – was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too – well – noble to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing to the rumours that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another sherbet lemon and did not answer.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumour is that Lily and James Potter are – are – that they're – dead. That's what the Dursleys think, too."

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James … I can't believe it … I didn't want to believe it … Oh, Albus …"

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know … I know …" he said heavily.  
Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potters' son, Harry. But – he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke – and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's – it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done … all the people he's killed … he couldn't kill a little boy? It's just astounding … of all the things to stop him … but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now."

"You mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore – that's actually a pretty good idea."

"It's the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses.

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed and then said, "Yes – yes, you're right, of course. But how is the boy getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing him."

"You think it – wise – to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to – what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky – and a huge motorbike fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorbike was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a al man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild – long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of dustbin lids and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorbike?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorbike as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it me. I've got him, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir – house was almost destroyed but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where –?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar for ever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in useful. I have one myself above my left knee which is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well – give him here, Hagrid – we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned towards the Dursleys' house.

"Could I – could I say goodbye to him, sir?" asked Hagrid.

He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall. "You'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry" sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it – Lily an' James dead – an' poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles –"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice. "I'd best get this bike away. G'night, Professor McGonagall – Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself on to the motorbike and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Harry" he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles.

He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter – the boy who lived!"

* * *

Author's Note:

I hoped you enjoyed this story so far! It's my first, too.

Now this Author's Note is to clarify a bunch of stuff.

1\. The premise of this story is that the Dursleys act like how normal families should act. If your sister and her husband just died, leaving their son behind, I know I would be more than glad to take him (the son) in, feed him, clothe him, and be super-duper-uber nice to him.

In fact, the Dursleys will be acting _better_ than normal because Petunia isn't such a jerk.

2\. While the Dursleys _may very well be smarter_ than in canon, that doesn't mean that Harry is going to be the same Harry from Methods of Rationality. You'll see his character later, of course.

With that, let me repeat something! I hope you enjoy this story!


	2. Friendship and Adventure!

Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their nephew on the front step, and Number Four Privet Drive had gone through big - and when I say big, I mean big - changes. Harry Potter now lived in the second bedroom of the Dursley house, for one. Books were scattered all over the house, for two. For three, uh... there's only two reasons.

Today was June 23, 1991, an extremely special day that both Harry and the Dursleys would remember fondly. Harry got up, convinced that he was going to cook breakfast today-

He glared at the thin woman who Dudley seemed to take after. Petunia smirked back. She had gotten to the kitchen first, after all. It was _her_ turn to cook food for the family.

"Darn it!" Harry muttered, walking back upstairs to his room. "Drats!" His head hit the pillow, and he drifted off.

Two hours later, Harry came back downstairs, followed by Dudley. "What's for breakfast today?"

"Eggs and sausages and toast and bacon and-"

"Mom! You know I don't eat that much," Dudley whined. It was true. Normally, he was so engrossed in his books that he ate so little so quickly, just to return to reading. This time, he was stuck with a book called _Guns, Germs, and Steel_.

"Dudders! It's your birthday, anyways!" Petunia scolded. "Eat up some!

"Yeah, Dudders," Harry snickered.

Dudley reluctantly picked up his fork, stabbing some scrambled eggs. "Harry, how many times do I have to tell you to note call me that-"

KNOCK! KNOCK!

"Hello?" a woman's voice echoed. "Is anybody here? I'm looking for the Dursley residence!"

"I'm right here!" Harry shouted, bolting from his seat, running from the kitchen, and lunging for the door-

-before getting smacked out of the way by Dudley, who bolted straight for the door-

-who got pushed to the side by Petunia Dursley, who turned to look at the two boys. "Ha!" she crowed merrily, before unlocking the door. "Welcome to the Dursley- WAIT, it's you again!"

"Yes, it's me again," Professor McGonagall said irritably.

"I-it's y-you!"

"Yes, it's me."

"B-but-"

"Yes."

"Are you the same one-"

"-who delivered the letter to Lily? Yes."

"Oh."

"I'm here to deliver the Hogwarts Acceptance Letter-"

"-to Harry James Potter? You're early-" Petunia interrupted.

"-No, it's addressed to one Dudley Dursley."

"What?"

"I'm delivering this letter to Dudley Dursley," the professor repeated.

"U-uh, I'm right here," the aforementioned boy said timidly. "I'm Dudley Dursley."

Professor McGonagall stared at him. "I'm here to bring you to Diagon Alley, so you can get ready for Hogwarts. Feel free to bring any family members."

"Would it be okay if we used this opportunity to get Harry's supplies too?" Petunia asked. "I mean, I don't want to keep going back and forth-"

"Yes, it's fine," the teacher said. "Do I need to prove the existence of magic? Or anything?"

"No, it's fine," Petunia said. "Come on, let's go!"

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow at this, but she shook her head while reaching for Harry, Petunia, and Dudley. There was a twist-

-a SNAP!-

-and they had arrived on the street. Harry was jostled by some people passing through the crowd, though he held onto Petunia's hand as they passed through the streets.

Professor McGonagall sighed. "Normally, I'd take you guys to Gringotts, but the school has a special fund if you're disadvantaged-"

"No," Petunia said. "We'll pay for it. Lead the way to Gringotts!"

McGonagall's lips twitched before she marched the group to the end of the street (trust me, it's a really long street). Right before they entered the bank, Harry noticed-

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn,

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

"Hello," Professor McGonagall said, walking to the nearest booth. "We are here for the withdrawal of money for Harry James Potter, as well as the creation of a Gringotts vault for Dudley Dursley."

"Wait a second," Petunia said. "The vault is under my name, since I'm the one paying for it."

The goblin, Ragnok, sneered. "Unfortunately, muggles cannot own vaults."

"What?"

"Muggles cannot own Gringotts vaults. Dudley is the only wizard in your family, so he gets the vault."

Petunia gnashed her teeth in anger. "We'll go to Harry's vault first, then we'll talk about this later."

"Your key, please."

Professor McGonagall blushed a deep shade of crimson-red. "Oops...er...I didn't think that you would bring Harry with you...so I didn't get Harry's key-"

"-and why would you have his vault key?" Petunia asked.

"That's something I would like to know myself," Ragnok said, leaning in to hear McGonagall's explanation.

"Er..." Professor McGonagall said, startled by the questions. "I e-er d-don't exactly kn-know myself..."

Ragnok sneered. "I'll need some of Harry's blood to verify his claims, then. Gringotts will fashion him a new key. The old key will no longer work. Do you understand, McGonagall?"

She nodded quickly.

"Now, Harry, come with me. We'll have to go to the Blood Verification Chamber at once." A door opened behind his booth, and Ragnok motioned for Harry to join him. Petunia stepped forward- "Not you, muggle."

The two walked into the entrance down a plain hallway decorated only by lights and torches adorning the passage. "So," Harry said, trying to start up a conversation. The silence was getting awkward and oppressive. "How's your day?"

"Fine," Ragnok bit out.

The silence just became more awkward and one-sided. "That's great!"

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"This is the Gringotts Atrium," Ragnok explained as the light came closer, signalling the end of the tunnel. Harry sucked in a breath as he entered the room. It was huge, with massive tunnels branching out everywhere. In the center of it all...there was a large, golden statue. A lone goblin stood, his dagger stretched upward, as if to challenge the humans that hung around in the upper parts of the bank. Molten gold poured out of his mouth and steamed as it flew downward into the rest of the golden fountain.

Harry wondered how that worked. If they were melting the gold, how wasn't the statue melted? Perhaps magic had some charms to prevent the statue itself from melting.

"This way," Ragnok bit out, his firm hand dragging Harry right, then left, then right again, with two more lefts. "We're here. The Blood Verification Chamber."

Two goblin medics bustled towards Harry, dragging him to the chair. "This is going to hurt," the first said.

The second brought out a knife, and Harry instinctively flinched. "Whoa!" Harry said.

"Look!" Ragnok shouted. "It's Bigfoot the Yeti!"

Harry looked away- "OW!" The blood flowed freely from his arm into the bowl the first medic had out right under his arm.

"Hey, normally my distraction doesn't work!" Ragnok exclaimed.

The wound healed just as quickly, after a quick potion, though Harry felt betrayed. He had never ever felt such deep pain. "So..."

The medic dropped the bowl onto a piece of parchment, where ink began to form. "James Potter... Lily Potter... Charlus Potter... Dorea Potter... Rose Evans..." Harry murmured.

"That's you then, Mr. Potter. We'll have to wait for another goblin to bring the keys, though."

"It's fine," Harry said.

"It won't be much of a wait, anyways," Ragnok said. "Our carts are very fast. In fact, I think I can hear it right now!"

"Really?" Harry asked skeptically. "No way-"

A cart zoomed into view. "Griphook, bring the key over here!" Ragnok shouted.

"Here you go, Ragnok sir," the goblin said respectfully.

Ragnok grabbed the key and handed it to Harry. "We'll return back to the surface to collect the woman, the other woman, and the boy."

Griphook snorted, trotting off the cart and into the deep recesses of the cavern. Ragnok jumped into the cart, with Harry following shortly after-

"WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

Ragnok snorted. "I did not think you would gain such...pleasure...from such rides," he said, throwing his hands back as well, hoping to enjoy the thrill of the ride.

"I'VE NEVER BEEN THROUGH SOMETHING AS BRILLIANT AS THIS!" Harry shouted back, the wind blowing his face into huge proportions. "THIS IS AMAZING!"

"It would be nice to have a human like you working here at Gringotts," Ragnok said calmly. "You don't seem as condescending towards us like other wizards," he said. "We can offer you a job starting at 100 Galleons a year once you graduate from Hogwarts, though the number would change depending on your credentials."

Harry grinned. "Sounds interesting! What do you do here?"

"We store money," Ragnok said. "We find money. We make money. We buy money. Have I mentioned that we store money?"

Harry snorted. "Yes, you have. It sounds very...interesting."

Ragnok bared his teeth in an eerie smile. "It is interesting, Mr. Potter." The cart slowed to a halt, and Harry's grin was reduced to a small smile. "We're here!" the goblin said, jumping out of the cart, showing Harry the way back to the booth. They had somehow skipped the Atrium on their return trip.

"Hi!" Harry exclaimed, waving at the waiting group. "Hope we weren't gone for too long!"

Professor McGonagall sighed. "Lead the way, Mr. Ragnok."

Half an hour later, they walked back out onto the streets, dizzy as heck. The Professor and Petunia were both swaying on their feets, while Dudley stumbled around like he was drunk. Harry was disoriented and actually ran into three people, though it stopped being such a big problem after a few minutes.

"I'm going to have to get a...drink," Professor McGonagall said. "You kids go on to Madam Malkin's Robe Shop. I'll guide you there, then I'll go onto Tom's bar."

Two minutes later, Harry and Dudley found themselves alone in the shop. Even his own mother had abandoned Dudley in favor of a drink. "Hello?"

"Oh...uh...me and my cousin are here for some robes."

The salesgirl rolled her eyes. "Why else would you be here? Sit in the seat and wait for Madam Malkins."

The two boys complied, and while they were waiting-

"Yes, that book," Harry said. "What's interesting about this one?"

"Actually," Dudley said. "I've read this one before. The Art of War, by Sun Zi?"

"Oh, that one," Harry said. "Psh, you and your silly little books."

"I'll have you know that my books are infinitely better than your silly little computers!"

"I'm sorry, but my computers are neither silly nor little!"

"I'd beg to pardon! Besides, there's a reason why you're wearing glasses!" Dudley exclaimed.

"You're wearing glasses too," Harry pointed out.

Dudley flushed crimson red. "Yeah, but..."

"Hello?" A plump woman appeared. "Oh, you must be here for your robes! Oops!"

"Yes, they're here for their robes," the salesgirl said. "What else would they be here for?"

"Don't listen to her, sweetiepie! She's...special."

"I can hear you!" the salesgirl shouted.

"Psh, whatever. Anyways, I'm Madam Malkins, and I'll be fitting your robes today." Almost immediately, her assistant appeared and began fixing Dudley up, so Harry waited awkwardly while he was being fitted. The door opened again just as Madam Malkin brought out her ruler, just as a girl walked in. Harry waved at her.

"Hello!" she said, excited. The girl's parents walked in with a really, really short person (Harry wasn't trying to be rude, but he was...short). "Is this Madam Malkins?"

"Yes," Madam Malkins said without turning around. "I'm Madam Malkins. Who are you, sweetie?"

"I'm Hermione Granger!" the girl exclaimed. "Uh...where do I stand?"

"Right next to Harry, please!" Hermione bounded straight to the pedestal right next to Harry.

"So...Harry...I heard you two talking about the Art of War!"

"You've heard of it?" Dudley asked, surprised. "Based on how dumb my cousin is-"

"-HEY!-"

"-I was surprised that anybody knew what it was!"

Hermione grinned. "Finally! A fellow bookworm!"

"I would fistbump you if I could," Dudley muttered. "Unfortunately, I'm getting fitted." To demonstrate his point, Madam Malkins' assistant poked him with the ruler once. "Ow!"

"Right," Hermione said, not listening. "Anyways, you know the part where Sun says 'When you surround an army, leave an outlet free. Do not press a desperate foe too hard', right? It's in... Chapter... er... I don't remember which chapter it's in."

"Uh...yeah?" Dudley said. "Random topic change," he muttered.

"My parents and I disagree on how we should interpret his words," she said. Her parents only glanced up once from the Wizarding newspaper they were reading. "They thought it literally meant 'no pincer movements'."

"Isn't that what he's saying?" Dudley asked. "Leaving an outlet free means that you don't surround them."

"But that's contradictory! When you say 'surround an army, but don't surround it', that's hypocritical!"

"Some people make mistakes," Dudley said, shrugging.

"What I think," Hermione said. "Is that Sun Zi is telling us that we have to be merciful."

"What?" Dudley asked. "I don't see the word 'merciful' anywhere in that quote."

"Firstly," Hermione said, sounding very authoritative. "Translations don't always work well. Secondly, I think that's the implied meaning."

"Implied meaning? How do you get that?"

"See, back at the Battle of Kursk, the Germans were surrounded. Under other circumstances, they would have fought desperately for a way out, but they probably expected some mercy. So that was their outlet out! They could surrender - and still survive!"

"Sure," Dudley said. "That makes sense, but if they surrendered, they could still turn against the Germans, right?"

"Y-yeah," Hermione said, stumbling out of shock of finally being challenged once. "But what's most important is getting your opponent to surrender, which is especially true on the battlefield."

"What's the point of the victory if it's not absolute?" Dudley asked. "The point of a victory is so that you win, not so that you lose!"

"But how do you get to that victory?" Hermione asked.

"You learn enough to force your enemy to back down!" Dudley exclaimed.

"Is learning the solution?" Hermione asked. "Or is forcing your enemy to back down the solution?"

"The first one leads to the second one," Dudley said. "So I'd say the first is more important. Knowledge is more important than the ultimate victory, since having it will eventually lead to the ultimate victory."

"But surrendering is necessary for the ultimate victory, since it's literally a pre-requisite."

"Knowledge-"

"Done!" Madam Malkins exclaimed. "We're finished here."

"Thanks," Harry said, paying her the appropriate amount of money.

"Wait, lad," Hermione's father said. "Where are your parents?"

"Dead," Harry said. Behind him, Madam Malkins and Hermione gasped, while Hermione's parents clutched their hearts. Dudley sighed.

"Oh my gosh. I didn't mean to ask such an insensitive question...where's your guardian?"

"Oh, Aunt Petunia is out for a drink."

"A drink?" Hermione's father muttered to his wife. "Come, we can bring you to the stores. Professor Flitwick is guiding us, anyways."

"Yup! Right here!" Harry's head swiveled around, trying to see the professor. "Here!" Harry continued to turn, looking for the Professor, but he couldn't-"Below you!" Harry looked down. Oh, that was where he was!

"Oops. Sorry about that..."

"It's fine, young man," the Professor said. "Come on, let's go!"

"Over the rivers and through the woods, to Ollivanders we go!" Harry sang, skipping through the streets-

The group slid to an abrupt halt. "What is this?" Professor Flitwick cried.

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

Ollivander evidently was not present. Professor Flitwick had the feeling that he wasn't here, almost like a goblin's sixth sense.

"We'll just have to knock, right?" Hermione's father asked, curious. His hand rapped smartly on the door.

No response.

Professor Flitwick's sixth sense was telling him that something fishy was going on here.

Had Olivander been kidnapped?

Taken from his home?

Killed and murdered?

"Oh no!" Professor Flitwick squealed, diving into the shop.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single spindly chair which Professor Flitwick sat on to wait. Harry felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions which had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

"Ollivander, are you okay? Garrick? GARRICK? Oh no, where are you-"

"BOO!"

"AHHHHH!"

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop. "I have to try that more often," he said, chortling. "I assume this is young Harry Potter and two muggleborns?"

Professor Flitwick nodded. "Right as always!"

"We'll have to begin immediately!" Ollivander exclaimed. ""You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work. Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it – it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course. And that's where…"

Mr Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands … Well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do …" He shook his head.

"Hmmm," said Mr Ollivander, giving Professor Flitwick a piercing look. "Well, now – Mr Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Er – well, I'm right-handed," said Harry.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Harry suddenly realised that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Harry took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try –"

Harry tried – but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr Ollivander.

"No, no – here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere – I wonder, now – yes, why not – unusual combination – holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Professor Flitwick whooped and clapped and Mr Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well … how curious … how very curious …"

He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious … curious …"

"Sorry" said Harry, "but what's curious?"

Mr Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather – just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother – why, its brother gave you that scar."

Harry swallowed.

"Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember … I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter … After all, He Who Must Not Be Named did great things – terrible, yes, but great."

Harry shivered. He wasn't sure he liked Mr Ollivander too much. He paid seven gold Galleons for his wand, and Hermione stepped forward for her wand.

"Ah, muggleborn?" Ollivander asked, not even bothering to wait for an answer. His hands sprung into action, measuring Hermione from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round her head.

"Right then, Ms Granger. Try this one. Oak and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

She waved it a little, but-

He had taken it back. "No, no, it simply won't work. Try this one - Willow and Unicorn Tail hair. Eight inches."

She tried again-

"No," Ollivander said, taking the wand back. "I think we had more results with the dragon heartstring. Try this Willow and dragon heartstring, ten inches."

She tried-

"No," Ollivander said, grabbing the wand. "Still, it's improving. Let's try breechwood and dragon heartstring."

She-

"No," Ollivander said. "Much better than Unicorn Tail hair. Let's try Blackthorn and dragon heartstring."

S-

"Nope," Ollivander said. "I feel like you'd be better with vine and dragon heartstring."

She-WHOA, she had finally finished a thought without interruption from Ollivander! Great! Anyways, she waved the wand, and sparks flew out.

"Wonderful!" Ollivander exclaimed, clapping. Dudley stepped forward. After around four or five tries, he ended up with Blackthorn and unicorn hair wand.

Filius grinned, paying Ollivander fourteen galleons. "Wonderful!" he said. "Now, let's go to our next location," he said, leading the group out of Ollivanders' shop. "Moving on to-"

"Filius!"

"Huh?"

"Filiu!"

"Where?"

"I'm right here, you dolt!" Professor McGonagall appeared, her cheeks blushing red. "Oh, that's where you are, Harry and Dudley! Petunia and I had worried that we had lost you!" She belched, forcing the group the recoil a bit before giggling a bit.

"Pardon her, please," Professor Flitwick said. "I think she's drunk-"

"Drunk?" Professor McGonagall asked. "Ha haa! No, I am not!"

"You best apparate back to Hogwarts," Professor Flitwick said, just as Petunia appeared. One CRACK! later, McGonagall was gone. "Hello, Petunia."

"Hi," Petunia said, almost just as drunk as Professor McGonagall.

"We'll have to go outside Diagon Alley to get you on the Knight Bus," he said, leaving with Petunia. "I trust you to keep Harry, Dudley, and Hermione safe!" he shouted back to the Grangers.

Mr and Mrs Granger nodded resolutely. "Professor Flitwick got us cauldrons while we were waiting."

"He got the cauldrons and glass-?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Yeah, he got them for you while you guys were in Madam Malkins. Now onto Flourish and Blotts!"

The bookstore itself was nice and quaint. Harry, Dudley, and Hermione immediately began scouring the bookshelves, trusting Professor Flitwick to get the essential books. After all, there were more...interesting...books to be found. Almost immediately, Harry began seeking out information on the basic school subjects.

"Hogwarts: School Curriculum," Harry mused. He picked it out and stood reading it for a good 12 minutes before putting it back. "This Arithmancy sounds interesting," he said, grabbing two on it, Numerology and Grammatica and New Theory of Numerology. I already know some math, so maybe I could apply it to magic?

"I'll take Ancient Runes Made Easy, and maybe Transfiguration for Dummies, and The Standard Book of Spells. That should be enough for the rest of summer." After all, Ancient Runes seems to be an elective I'd want to take when I'm in third year, Transfiguration is mandatory-hey, Dudley's been rubbing off on me again!

Dudley had been transfixed by some books about the History of Magic, while Hermione had just bought the whole store. Dudley had chosen some obscure books about the Chongzhen Emperor of the Ming, Ivan the Terrible, the recent Wizarding World War (with Grindelwald and Dumbledore), and the Goblin Rebellions.

Hermione, on the other hand, had purchased indiscriminately, though her main restriction was that she was only going to buy books about her current subjects. She bought all seven years of charms textbooks, transfiguration books, along with all other required books up to third year.

Whatever, Harry thought, sitting down between two shelves in the Arithmancy section. Let's start reading!

'Before we start anything on true Arithmancy,' Harry read. 'We must first understand arithmetic. To help us understand it better, this book suggests using your fingers to count. For example, if you have the math problem 1 + 1 = x, then you would use one finger on your hand. Then, because you are adding a one, you would hold up a second finger. After that, you need to count your fingers. One, two. I believe that should help you understand addition. In case the above arithmetic problem is complicated, you can simplify...'

What? Harry thought, shocked. Teaching addition using 1 + 1? While saying it may be complicated? Encouraging using fingers to count? I'll skip past this chapter, Harry decided.

'Chapter 2: Subtraction-'

HECK NO! Harry thought. I've done this before. 1-1 is obviously 2! I'll move on to-

'Chapter 3: Multiplication-'

...moving on... Harry thought.

'Chapter 4: Division-'

Nope, Harry thought simply. Not even going to look at the rest. The next chapter should start actual Arithmancy, I hope.

'Chapter 5: Exponents-'

I swear, this book is only teaching what I learned several years ago!

'Chapter 8: Uses of Arithmancy'

FINALLY! Harry's brain cried out in relief.

'Arithmancy is used...'

Two hours later, Harry had both the required books and some (a lot) extra books, and they were heading out to the Magical Menagerie.

"We're here!" Professor Flitwick announced before entering the shop. "If you want an owl, you'll have to go to Eeylops Owl Emporium, I'm afraid." After staying inside the Menagerie for a good 2 minutes, the group moved on to the Emporium.

"Hm, that's a Barn Owl, a Snowy Owl-hey, that one looks cool!" Harry exclaimed. The Snowy Owl gave a hoot. "I think we could be friends!"

The clerk showed up immediately. "You want Owl No. 5238? Sure. 15 galleons, please." Harry handed over 15 galleons.

"Nice choice," Professor Flitwick said. "This Snowy Owl looks cute!"

The owl hooted.

"But not as cute as me!" Professor Flitwick exclaimed. "Geez, I'm kidding! Come on, let's go." After crossing the border into Tom's Leaky Cauldron, the group found themselves back on the streets of London. Professor Flitwick brought out his wicked wand and gave it a flick-

-BANG!-

-and a bus somehow appeared. Written on its side in huge letters were the letters-

K

N

I

G

H

T

B

U

S

"-I guess this is where we say goodbye," Hermione said, while Flitwick was giving directions to the conductor.

Harry and Dudley nodded. "We'll see you at Hogwarts, though," Dudley said. "Besides-WHOA-!"

The bus immediately began flying through the London traffic, going everywhere at once. Inside the bus, the passengers were tossed right - then left - then right again - a shove forward - a push back-

"We're here!" the conductor shouted, as Harry and Dudley slowly walked down to the ground.

"Remember, here's your ticket to the Hogwarts Express. You just need to run into this wall, and it'll send you to Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Have a fun summer, Harry and Dudley!"

"Thanks, Professor."

"No problem, Harry! Have a wonderful summer!" The man let out a CRACK! and disapparated again.

"I guess we're back," Harry mumbled, sitting down on the pavement next to Dudley. "Hey, let's just relax in the nice sun and read some nice books!"

Dudley nodded, flopping down next to him with the book about Ivan the Terrible. Time quickly passed.

A minute.

Two minutes.

Three.

Five.

Twenty.

An hour-

-until what sounded like a stampede reached Harry's ears.

"Dudley! Quick, run in! Piers Polkiss is coming!" Dudley quickly ran into the house, bringing both Harry's belongings and his own.

"Oh look, it's Potty!" The rat-like boy snickered. "What are you doing here?"

"This is my house, dumbbutt."

"Oh, really?" Piers asked mockingly. "What? How? Your parents are dead!"

Harry gritted his teeth. "At least my parents were good people! Unlike yours-"

"Don't insult my momma!"

"See? They didn't even raise you with manners!"

Piers looked annoyed. "Potty, I think it's time for you to stop defending your nerdy brother-"

"He's my cousin."

"Whatever. I've told you so many times - there's no reason why we should be enemies-"

"Get out!"

"-there's no reason-"

"He's family, and that's reason enough. GET OUT!"

"-no reason-"

"BOY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" Uncle Vernon's voice boomed threateningly from where he stood at the doorway.

"Er..." Piers mumbled before turning away and running.

"Come here, Harry," Uncle Vernon said, smiling. "I'm proud to call you my nephew. Now, give me a hug."

* * *

Thanks for reading and reviewing! PLEASE REVIEW AND BE SUPER NICE - it makes me feel all happy on the inside!

USA83: Thanks so much for catching the errors! They have been fixed.

Sakura Lisel: They're family, so I'm sure they can still cooperate in terms of money.

Arabella Lee Smith: Thanks!

Auror Dafni: I'm glad you think it's funny!

Guest(s): Thanks for the reviews, guys!

JamesPotter: Thanks!

XxThe-Crest-Of-AnubisxX: The story follows canon (in the beginning), except the Dursleys are nicer. Of course, apart from the first two chapters, Harry's change and Dudley's entrance should shake things up quite a bit.

Less Wrong: Are you sure that it's in Rowling's style? Maybe Chapter 1 was, but 2 isn't as much. And three definitely isn't.

Just in case you're wondering, I actually did randomize the list of professors, and McGonagall came out. How random!

And yes, the Madam Malkins' scene was not random. It will influence something later.


	3. Riding Trains Onward

"Bye!" Harry shouted, waving to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. "I'll miss you!"

Big, fat tears rolled down the eyes of all the Dursleys.

"Dudley! Harry!" Petunia sobbed. "I'll miss you!"

"Bye!" Dudley wailed. "I'll miss you too!"

"My son! Harry!" Vernon yelled. "I'll miss you two!"

"Bye!" Harry shouted again. "I love you two!"

"Me too!"

"Me three!"

"Me four!"

"Me five-er, wait, what?"

"I love you!"

CHUG!

"I love you!"

CHUG!

"I love you!"

CHOO!

"I love you!"

CHOO!

The train finally took off, forcing Harry and Dudley back into their seats. Dudley flopped down and opened one of the countless books he had been glued to.

"I'm guessing you're hoping to meet that Hermoninny girl?" Harry asked. "She seemed rather interesting-"

" _Hermione_ , Harry. Her name was Hermione," Dudley said, putting down his book and glaring at Harry.

"Yeah, same thing. So you are waiting for her, right?"

"N-no!" Dudley insisted.

"Is that why you're not reading anything?" Dudley quickly picked up his book.

Harry snorted. "Yeah, right." Harry picked up his own sketchpad and laughed. Upon figuring out that Arithmancy was the study of numbers, he had immediately dived into the subject. While Dudley had always liked history books, Harry himself preferred math. And lots of math, too.

Meanwhile, Harry had immediately begun work on a pet project - trying to create some form of invention. Everyone knew that the Wizarding World needed one. The biggest source of innovation in Britain nowadays was Zonkos.

It wasn't that hard. Magic, unlike technology, was able to understand meanings. So instead of having to program 0's and 1's, Harry could choose a vast array of numbers to choose from. Further, magic understood letters. Harry had tried to configure things to a keyboard, with all the letters of the alphabet. Belatedly, he realized that he didn't need any letters. Magic understood the voice far better than technology.

It seemed that he would be trying to make a magical calculator. All it could do was calculate numbers and save documents, which wasn't exactly a bad thing. It was at least a start. At least, if he could finish it. It would be a seven year long plan, he hoped. Maybe he would have to spend some years as an adult working on it.

Harry sighed. He also needed to find a way to store and save documents, which wasn't going to happen this year. Maybe next year, when he learned more charms- WAIT!

Perhaps if he used Charms _and_ Arithmancy-

KNOCK! KNOCK!

"Is anybody there?"

Dudley looked up, hopeful. _Perhaps it was Hermione_.

Harry snickered internally, making sure to tease Dudley about this later.

"Yes?" Dudley asked, his voice wavering.

The compartment door slid open. "Oh, good," the redhead said. "I've been looking for a spot without any greasy Slytherins forever."

"What?" Dudley asked.

"I've been looking-"

"No, I mean, are people sorted already? Am I late?" Dudley asked, fretting.

"Oh," Ron said. "Hehe. Uh, it's just that you know if someone's in Slytherin. Their attitude kinda gives them away. Anyways, what are you guys working on?"

"Dudley's reading a book, and I'm trying to make stuff. Oops, how rude of me! I forgot to introduce myself. Sorry, I'm Harry and that's Dudley."

Ron nodded. "I'm Ronald Weasley-"

"-Weasley? You're one of those Weasels, aren't you?" A sneering blond boy forced his way into the compartment.

"Excuse me? You look like a dirty Malfoy from first glance!"

"Dirty? You probably don't have the money to take a shower, Weasel!"

"At least my father isn't a Death Eater!"

"He's not!"

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"The court said so!"

"The court's wrong!"

"Nuh uh!"

"Yuh huh!"

"Nuh uh!"

"Yuh huh!"

"Guys, just-" Harry cut in.

"Nuh uh!"

"Yuh huh!"

"-stop being so-" Harry continued.

"Nuh uh!"

"Yuh huh!"

"-rude and sit down!" Harry finished.

Draco grinned. "See, Weasel? He likes me more!"

Ronald gasped. "Y-you do?"

"Yes!" Draco cried. "Ha!"

Harry rolled his eyes.. "Of _course_ I like Draco more-"

Ronald gasped again, horrified. " _How could anybody like a Slytherin_ -"

"Ha!" Draco laughed again.

"I was being sarcastic," Harry said.

"O-oh," Ronald said. "U-uh, what's that? I've grown up with my b-brothers, and they aren't exactly s-sacarstick..."

"Even I know what being sacarstick means," Draco snorted. "It means that you're eat sacar sticks!"

Dudley and Harry looked at each other, bemused. "Uh...sure..."

"W-what?" Ronald asked, feeling betrayed. "How could you agree with that slimy Slytherin?"

Malfoy grinned widely. "Back to what I was going to ask originally - are you Harry Potter?"

Harry nodded slowly. "What does that have to do with anything?" Ronald Weasley let out a shocked gasp.

"Harry, it means that you're famous everywhere in the Wizarding World-"

"Shut up, mudblood," Draco said. "I can show you how to make good friends," he continued, beginning a rehearsed speech. "Not like this blood traitor here and that mudblood-" His words had finally sunk into Harry's mind, and...

"WHAT?" Harry shouted. "What did you call Dudley?"

"He's a mudblood-"

"-and what does that mean?"

Malfoy sneered. "His blood is full of mud, obviously-"

BAM! Harry made sure that this punch was extra hard, and he could almost _hear_ the git's nose crack. "Get out of here."

"W-what?"

"OUT!" Harry roared. "Get OUT! I can't _stand_ bullies like you!"

"W-wait till m-my f-father hears about t-this!"

"I will, just so I can give him a punch, too!" Harry shouted as the blond boy retreated down the train.

"Blimey, mate, that was amazing," Ronald said. "It's no wonder that you defeated You-Know-Who so easily-oops, that was pretty insensitive."

Harry nodded, and the group fell into silence. "Were you two just fighting?" Hermione asked, pushing her own way into the compartment.

"Yeah!" Ronald said. "It was amazing!"

"Tsk tsk," Hermione said, shaking her head. "That's not the right word-"

"Hermione," Dudley said. "The blond git was insulting my family. My ancestry. My parents. My grandparents."

Hermione looked uncertain. "Maybe we could have asked a professor-"

"Hermione," Dudley said. "Back at my school, people bullied me for reading too much books and liking history too much. They tried to, at least. Harry protected me. In the beginning, I kept asking the teachers for help, but they never got the bullies to stop. I've learned that authority figures can't always protect you."

Hermione nodded. "The same thing happened to me, too. Er, except I didn't only read history books..."

"Don't worry," Harry said. "The Wizarding World is a whole different world! You get a fresh new opportunity, and we'd love to have you sit with us."

Hermione shook her head. "Actually, I came here to help look for a toad. Neville lost his toad. Neville, come on in!"

The boy stumbled into the room. "Have you seen a toad? I've lost Trevor!" he wailed.

"A toad? Er, no, but I can help you look for it..." Dudley said.

Harry snickered. _He just wants time with Hermione_! Harry knew he was going to tease Dudley later.

"Sure," Harry said. "I'll go. What about you, Ronald?"

"Call me Ron," the red-haired boy said quickly. "And yes, I'll come too."

The group of five wandered up and down the halls before Ron realized something. "Wait, why don't we just ask one of the prefects to summon Trevor?"

Everyone facepalmed. "You mean we could have done that?" Neville asked sullenly. "Gosh, I'm so dumb-"

"No, you're not," Harry said. "No matter what happens, you're _you_. I know that Neville isn't dumb."

"Gee, thanks," Neville said. "Seriously. Er, where are the prefects?"

"They should be at the front of the train," Ron said. "I tried sitting there, but my brother Percy kicked me out, since that was 'reserved for Prefects', so I moved to another compartment - which was also a prefects. I thought the train was full, too, so I just explored the train randomly and found Harry's compartment. Oh look, Percy's compartment is right there!" he exclaimed, pointing at the third compartment on the right. The group hurried forward.

"Here we are," Harry said. "The Prefects' area."

Hermione gulped nervously before she rapped on the door with her knuckles.

"Come in!"

Hermione led the way in. "E-excuse me?"

"Yes?" a red-haired boy who looked like Ron asked. "Oh gosh, what did Ron do?"

"Hey!" Ron exclaimed. "It's not _always_ me!"

"It's not Ron," Hermione said. "Neville lost his toad, Trevor."

"Oh," Percy said. "What do you want me to do?"

"Maybe you could Summon him?" Harry suggested.

"Oh yeah! We're allowed to use magic on the train now, so..." Percy said. " _Accio Trevor_!" A toad zoomed by a couple compartments before smacking straight into Percy's outstretched hand, which dropped it. "Here's your toad, Neville."

"T-thank you, sir!" Neville said, bowing slightly. The group exited the compartment, seeking to return back to their former compartment.

"Uh, where were we?"

"Um..."

"Er..."

"Actually...I don't know," Harry confessed.

The group passed by an empty compartment. "Hey, why don't we stop in here?" Hermione suggested. "I mean, it's not like anybody's in there." One by one, the group walked single-file into the compartment.

"So..." Ron said, trying to stop the air from becoming awkward. "Whatcha doin'?"

"Reading a book," Dudley said.

"Sitting here awkwardly," Neville said.

"Reading a book," Hermione said.

"Finding out how to build a calculator with magic," Harry said.

Ron immediately zoomed in on Harry. "Whoa, is that anything like the camp-yoo-tehr?"

"Computers use lots of wire and stuff," Harry said, trying to keep things simple. "But magic overrides the need for all of that, so I'm trying to find a simple version to create, probably like a calculator. I'm probably only going to finish this when I'm 20 or something, though."

Ron gasped. "You know who you would get along well with?"

"You?" Harry guessed.

"Well...yeah," Ron said. "But I was thinking about my dad!"

"Your dad?"

"Yeah, my dad! He really really _really_ likes playing around with muggle toys like the fellytone."

"Mhm," Harry hummed. "I can _tell_ that he's taught you _a lot_ about muggle appliances."

"Yeah! I know about the fellertone, vellytision, and the laculator!"

Hermione snorted. "The telephone, television, and calculator?"

Ron blushed red. "I haven't seen them before, though..."

"It's fine!" Harry said, patting Ron's back. "Is there any way I can contact him?"

"Contact him?"

"Yeah, you know, so we can exchange advice on this stuff? I really _really_ want to finish this up before I finish Hogwarts, so..."

"Yeah, definitely!" Ron exclaimed, looking excited. His stomach rumbled a little. "Oops, sorry... I'll eat my corned beef sandwich then..."

"Hello!" a plump woman said, her face poking into the compartment, making it just in time. "I'm the trolley lady. Do you want any sweets?"

"Er...I don't want anything," Dudley said.

"I'm not that hungry," Neville said.

"I suppose I don't really need anything," Hermione said.

Harry stood up, looking at Ron. "Do you want anything?"

"Nah, it's fine," Ron insisted, his stomach rumbling.

Harry's stomach rumbled. "Er, I suppose I'll take something," he muttered, walking out into the hallway. "I'll take this Chocolate Frog, some Pumpkin Pastries, some of this, that one looks nice, I'll take one. Also, I'd like three of these and two of those," he said, pointing at each candy.

The cart-lady looked impressed. "You're sure you can eat all of that?"

"I'll share it with my friends," Harry said, giving her several galleons. He picked up everything, though it barely fit in his hands. The compartment door opened, and he stumbled inside, dropping almost everything on the floor.

"WHOA!" Dudley exclaimed. "That's a lot!" Hermione, Ron, and Neville nodded in agreement with him.

"We'll share," Harry said. Ron grinned at him as Harry picked up some Pumpkin Pastries and threw them to Ron.

"By the way," Ron said. "Your kindness can only mean one thing!"

Harry tilted his head, confused. "What?"

"Obviously, you must be a fellow fan of the Chudley Cannons!" Ron cried, pointing at Harry.

"H-how does that logic work?" Harry asked.

"It just does!" Ron insisted. "You're nice, so you must like the Chudley Cannons! You do, right? Right? Right?"

"Er...I don't know what that is..."

"It's a trashy Quidditch team," Neville said, speaking up. "Our family funds Puddlemere United-"

"Psh, Puddlemere!" Ron cried. "That team...don't even get me started on that team!"

"Then I won't get you started on my team," Neville said.

* * *

After thirty minutes of playful teasing, the group of five had bonded over snacks, candy, drinks, and, well, more snacks.

"Oops!" Hermione said. "We're almost there! I think we should get dressed!" she exclaimed, hurrying off.

A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Harry's stomach lurched with nerves and Ron, he saw, looked pale under his freckles. Dudley looked extremely worried, but Neville was the most nervous of all. They crammed their pockets with the last of the sweets and joined the crowd thronging the corridor.

The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way towards the door and out onto a tiny, dark platform. Harry shivered in the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students and Harry heard a familiar voice: "Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here!"

Hagrid's big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.

"C'mon, follow me – any more firs'-years? Mind yer step, now! Firs'-years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark either side of them that Harry thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much. Neville sniffed once or twice.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooh!".

The narrow path had opened suddenly on to the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry and Dudley were followed into their boat by Neville and Hermione, while Ron waved helplessly from a boat with some other boys.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself, "Right then – FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy which hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbour, where they clambered out on to rocks and pebbles.

Then they climbed up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last on to smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here?"

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross.

"The firs'-years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The Entrance Hall was so big you could have fitted the whole of the Dursleys' house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right – the rest of the school must already be here – but Professor McGonagall showed the first-years into a small empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber. Harry swallowed.

He kept his eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead him to his doom.

"We're finally here," Harry whispered.

"I know," Dudley whispered back.

"It's just-"

"BOO!" A ghost-ish thing appeared out of nowhere. "BOO!"

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Oh my gosh!"

"Where did that come from?"

"HAHAHAHAHA!"

"PEEVES!" Professor McGonagall stormed into the room. "What are you doing here, Peeves?"

"Nothing!" the ghost-like thing shouted before bouncing away.

McGonagall sighed. "That was Peeves the Poltergeist. He's really annoying."

"I can hear you!" his voice echoed from somewhere in the hallway.

"Pay him no regard," Professor McGonagall said. "Now, it's time for the sorting. Each of you will put on the Sorting Hat. It will yell out your house. Gryffindor is that table, this one is Hufflepuff, this table is Ravenclaw, and that one is Slytherin."

The big doors opened, and Harry could see the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall strode up to the front, where she brought out a hat and a list.

Harry thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing – noticing that everyone in the Hall was now staring at the hat, he stared at it too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth – and the hat began to sing, to Harry's complete surprise:

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

If you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole Hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Ron whispered to Harry. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

"HUFFLEPUFFF!"

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFFF!"

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Brocklehurst, Mandy!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Brown, Lavender!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Bulstrode, Millicent!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

* * *

"Dursley, Dudley!"

The nervous blond-haired boy walked up to the Sorting Hat and its chair. "Er...what do I do?"

"Sit down."

Dudley sat quickly, his knees shaking the whole stool. Professor McGonagall placed the hat on his head quickly.

'Hm...curious, intelligent...no question about it!'

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

* * *

"Granger, Hermione!"

'You're a little more tricky,' Hermione heard.

"What?"

'You could fit in Ravenclaw or Slytherin or Gryffindor.'

"Who is this?"

' _I'm the Sorting Hat_.'

"Oh, I see. Wait, can they hear me?"

' _No_ ,' the Hat 'said', letting out a sound that seemed like laughter.

"Okay, good."

'Let me review your memories,' the Hat said pleasantly.

 _"See, back at the Battle of Kursk, the Germans were surrounded. Under other circumstances, they would have fought desperately for a way out, but they probably expected some mercy. So that was their outlet out! They could surrender - and still survive!"_

 _"Sure," Dudley said. "That makes sense, but if they surrendered, they could still turn against the Germans, right?"_

 _"Y-yeah," Hermione said, stumbling out of shock of finally being challenged once. "But what's most important is getting your opponent to surrender, which is especially true on the battlefield."_

 _"What's the point of the victory if it's not absolute?" Dudley asked. "The point of a victory is so that you win, not so that you lose!"_

 _"But how do you get to that victory?" Hermione asked._

 _"You learn enough to force your enemy to back down!" Dudley exclaimed._

 _"Is learning the solution?" Hermione asked. "Or is forcing your enemy to back down the solution?"_

 _"The first one leads to the second one," Dudley said. "So I'd say the first is more important. Knowledge is more important than the ultimate victory, since having it will eventually lead to the ultimate victory."_

 _"But surrendering is necessary for the ultimate victory, since it's literally a pre-requisite."_

 _"Knowledge-"_

The memory abruptly cut off. Hermione had the sinking feeling that she knew what the Hat was going to do to her...

' _Well, Hermione, you'll be Ravenclaw or Slytherin. Based on what I've seen, you seem to like using cunning tactics and strategies for the sake of your future ambitions, and not for any specific knowledge_ -'

"Wait, are you putting me with that Malfoy slug-"

'- _so, as I was saying, you're going to be in_ -'

"SLYTHERIN!"

Ron stopped looking at her, refusing to even look at the Slytherin. Hermione's eyes desperately searched for someone - Dudley was still smiling at her, as were Harry and Neville. Hermione strode down to Slytherin table.

"Longbottom, Neville!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"MacDougal, Morag!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Malfoy, Draco!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Moon, Lily!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Nott, Theodore!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Parkinson, Pansy!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Patil, Padma!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Patil, Parvati!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Perks, Sally-Anne!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Potter, Harry!"

* * *

Just out of curiosity, one reviewer said that I was changing too much too quickly. Where exactly am I doing this? I'll fix it, if it's necessary.

Meanwhile, poor Hermione is stuck with Draco. Oh well, don't they say that people evolve over time?

Also, this fiction is moving into Humor, since it's apparently crackfic-y.

As Katzztar said, JK Rowling made post-Hogwarts Hermione into such a Mary Sue that it's hard to believe that she made it there _without_ enough ambition to make it into Slytherin. Besides, if everyone is in Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, that means that they'll be the Golden Trio again, and everyone will work together happily!

Slytherin!Hermione, on the other hand, leads to more inter-friend conflict over houses. Ron, for example, may be suspicious of Hermione more than normal.

Finally - just a reminder that this fanfiction is GEN. I will not be shipping Harry, Hermione, Neville, Dudley, or Ron in the near future, despite all the teasing that may occur (because it's a crackfic).


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